No, I haven’t read this yet, but it’s in my (every-growing) TBR pile. I will be reading it. Just not yet. There’s something else I need to read first. And there’s a story here.

Last night, my book club chose our new book (Rachel Hollis, Girl, Wash Your Face). McBride’s book was also up for consideration. Naturally, body image came up during the discussion of which book to read. Turns out, I’m in the minority of women who like their bodies. McBride cites statistics that “upwards of 90 percent” of women don’t. As those around me nodded, I cringed and felt, well, wrong–like I wasn’t a “proper” woman–because I love my body.

I’m beautiful. I’m not a model by any means–there’s a height requirement for that and no matter how many carbs I forgo, I’m not getting any taller–but I like what I see in the mirror. Is my body “perfect”? No. Does it fail me sometimes? Yes. Do I have goals for my body? Absolutely. And, yes, some of those goals involve numbers: 26.2 and 3:58. That’s right, I want to finish a marathon in under 4 hours. I’d also like to master bird-of-paradise again, and I’d love to do scorpion. I’d like to dance at a grandchild’s wedding and have a drink in my nineties, just like my grandma. These are the goals I have for my body.

More importantly, these are the kinds of goals I want to teach my daughters to have for their bodies. I want them to see their bodies as beautiful and strong, as a means of experiencing joy and pleasure and fun. I don’t want them to view their bodies as sources of shame or as an enemy.

Naturally, the title of McBride’s book made all of us think about our relationships, and one member of the group remarked that the book might lead us toward feeling more compassion for our mothers. So perhaps fate was at work.

Today, I checked the library website to see if my institution had Girl, Wash Your Face. We did, so I hustled to the library to snag it before the librarians in book club could get it. It was not on the shelf. Never fear, gentle reader, I found it. On the shelf below where its call number said it should be.

I found it next to a slim, grey, unassuming volume: Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman (1977). Of course I flipped through it: what kinds of suggestions were being given to Christian women in the late 1970s? Based on the first few paragraphs of the chapter on “Looks”, I’m already a “failure”. I don’t “put on my face” or make the bed before I have breakfast. Honestly, the way mornings at my house go, I eat breakfast at my desk. In peace and quiet, and it’s lovely. And no, I still haven’t “put on my face”.

To get back into blogging, I’ll be doing a series of posts as I read Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman and then Mothers, Daughters, and Body Image, and we’ll see what I learn.

Yes, I am simultaneously reading a book telling me to “put on my face” while reading another that’s telling me to wash it.